


Walk away

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Dammit Jim, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Hurt Jim, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jim Has Issues, Jim-centric, Kid Jim, Kidnapping, Love, Multi, Murder, Obsession, One Shot, POV Jim Moriarty, Pre-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Angst, Sad Ending, Suicide, Unrequited Love, Why Did I Write This?, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: "Why do heroes always give up everything for love? Power, standing, their hopes and dreams...  They deliberately give up all of that... For love? ""You would too Jimmy, and maybe you will one day. " his mother said softly.The young boy scoffed, his dark eyes half hidden beneath the sheets and she fondly brushed the strands of dark hair away from his forehead."No I wouldn't, I know I wouldn't. I would just leave if it threatened my ambitions.""You only say that because you never fell in love, but you'll see, you can't walk away from love Jimmy..."She trailed off, the sentences drifting into the small bedroom, and when she spoke again, her voice was eerily calm, strangely empty as she repeated her last words like a bad omen."You can't walk away."
Relationships: Eurus Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Jim Moriarty/Carl Powers, Jim Moriarty/John Watson, Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	Walk away

"Why do heroes always give up everything for love? Power, standing, their hopes and dreams... They deliberately give up all of that... For love? "

His mother looked taken aback by the question, closing the book and letting it rest on her knees before shaking her head with a smile. 

"You would too Jimmy, and maybe you will one day. " she said softly. 

The young boy scoffed, his dark eyes half hidden beneath the sheets and she fondly brushed the strands of dark hair away from his forehead. 

"No I wouldn't, I know I wouldn't. I would just leave if it threatened my ambitions."

His mother stopped moving, a far away look overcoming her features, and for a second, she seemed lost in another world, like she was looking at the scene from the other side of the mirror. 

"You only say that because you never fell in love, but you'll see, you can't walk away from love Jimmy..." 

She trailed off, the sentences drifting into the small bedroom, and when she spoke again, her voice was eerily calm, strangely empty as she repeated her last words like a bad omen.

"You can't walk away."

\----------

His mother loved his father, loved, loved and loved until it emptied her heart, until her pale skin was covered in colourful patterns, blues and violets fighting over the milky expanse, until she was lying in the warm embrace of the earth. 

She always repeated the words like a mantra when her husband came back home, thunderous, violent and always so cruel in his boredom, that single sentence tumbling out of her lips even that day, even as she plummeted towards the ground after he pushed her down the stairs. 

"It was an accident. " he simply said to the police, keeping his son close to his chest in a semblance of a hug, his fingers painfully digging into his soft skin, and Jim nodded, looking away. 

"I loved her. " the man had added after a second, uttering the words he had never thought when his wife had been alive.

Jim stiffened, and immediately, his father's grip became crushing, nails drawing blood beneath the shirt. 

"I loved her. " he repeated, the lie smoothly falling off his lips for the second time as he blinked repeatedly, mimicking the inflow of unwanted tears, and the police officer comfortingly patted his shoulder before leaving. 

_Liar._

\----------

"Be careful, you'll get lost! "

Jim was in a museum, idly following the rest of his class from room to room with a bored expression plastered on his face, glancing at the paintings every now and then when the other boy had spoken to him. 

Admittedly, the other had been right to interrupt his day dreams since he had almost lost track of the teacher, but still, it was one of the first time someone from his class actually talked to him without being obligated to...

Jim stayed silent, tilting his head to the side, scrutinizing the other. 

Light blond hair, wheat-colored strands mixed with golden accents, and wide blue eyes in the middle of an innocent face. 

"I'm Carl. " he said when the silence got too long, straightening his jacket like he was the one supposed to feel embarrassed "Carl Powers. "

Carl Powers, smart, popular, athletic, the school's star swimmer. 

Jim contemplated ignoring the other but he ultimately nodded, softly answering his greetings. 

"I'm Jim. "

He thought Powers would finally leave him alone now that he had been acknowledged, but the boy grinned widely, seemingly deciding that the smaller was worth sticking to. 

"You like museums too? It's great right?! " he chirped excitedly as they walked, slowing so that his strides matched Jim's "Are you also a fan of art? "

Even as he mostly stayed silent, Carl stayed at his side, whispering comments about some of the paintings they were passing, having a seemingly never-ending supply of energy as the hours passed, and little by little, Jim found himself replying, adding quick remarks about the mythology behind the painted scenes, the history laced with the colors. 

At first, he thought the older would shut him down, sneer and finally leave, but somehow, they ended up conversing enthusiastically the whole afternoon, and by the end of the day, they were inseparable. 

Even as months came and went, Carl stayed, invited him to the library, ruffled his hair and grinned, calling him clever and special. 

For a time, life was perfect, and he felt like he was in paradise. 

\----------

Jim wondered if Carl liked him because he found him pretty... But that couldn't be true. 

His mother had been pretty, with her light eyes and flowing blond hair, looking like the faeries from the tales of old, so lithe that it seemed like a strong gust of wind might take her away, but anyone could see that Jim had taken after his father, with his dark hair and even darker eyes filled with an edge the woman could have never mustered. 

But where his father was tall and bulky, Jim had gotten his mother's small frame and elegance, gliding through life like a vaporous wreath...

With a simple smile, Carl Powers caught the imperceptible gas in a jar and locked it away. 

\----------

The pain that came was unforeseeable and sudden, his heart shattering on impact. 

"I love you. " he said, because that was what people said right? 

They were sitting in the library, Carl was hunched over an art book, with Jim idly writing equations in the corners of his notebook, but when the words rippled through the silence, the older looked up violently like he had just been slapped. 

He paled, his skin deathly ashen, and stood up, before storming out of the room. 

Jim was left alone in the library, staring blankly at the spot Carl had just fled, the empty chair leaving a burning imprint in his mind, realising that the other had run away, abandoned him, forsaken him. 

_"I love you_." he had said, and the other should have simply stabbed him in the heart if he wanted him to suffer so. 

His eyes focused again on the book he had left on the table earlier, scanning over the words laid on the white pages... 

_Clostridium Botulinum._

\----------

The familiar presence that had stayed at his side during the last few months completely disappeared in an instant, and Jim hadn't thought it was possible to feel this alone. 

He had never felt lonely before, because loneliness was all he had ever known and how could someone crave something they had never experienced? 

But now, now that he knew warmth, now that he had felt affection and learnt love, how could he go back to the way things were? 

If his heart must stop in his chest, the so did Carl's. 

Stealing the other's medication and poisoning it was ridiculously easy. 

The whole class would soon go to London in order to watch the swimming competition, and in the frenzy, no one had noticed the small boy sneaking around the lockers... 

No one except Carl. 

"Jimmy? " 

The younger whirled around, forcing himself to stay calm as he stood in front of the locker, hiding the cream behind him. 

"Carl. "

The other seemed torn between saying whatever was on his mind and asking him what he was doing there, but he finally settled on the first option, looking away. 

"Look, I really wanted to talk to you before the competition... About everything. " he trailed off, still refusing to look at him. 

Jim stayed completely silent, the medicine excruciatingly hot in his hand, burning his fingers as he firmly grasped it, and after a second, Carl sighed and continued : 

"I thought a lot about what you told me, and I love you too! " 

The words hit him like a slap, his heart stilling in his chest, filled with ice, before starting anew, the blood loudly thumping in his ears. 

"But-" Carl started, and that single lexeme shattered the rosy future Jim had started to imagine like a rock thrown in a tranquil pond "I love you like a little brother Jimmy! "

Jim felt himself smiling puzzledly, his dark eyes widening in picture-perfect innocence before uttering meaningless words, but he experienced everything like he was watching it from afar, safely behind a thick glass panel, on the other side of the mirror. 

"Of course, and I meant it like that! What did you think I was trying to say? "

Carl laughed, and it was easy to hear the relief lacing the chuckles, so easy to feel it when he fondly ruffled his hair. 

The teacher called him and the blond dashed away with a quick promise of sitting next to him in the bus. 

Jim smiled and left the medicine in the locker, knowing the other would take it before leaving, knowing he would need to apply it before swimming, knowing Carl would die as certainly as he knew he would never have loved him like he needed him to. 

Later, Jim would lie, _'he died because he laughed at me_ ' he would say, with dark eyes and a darker sneer, but as the bus drove towards London, as he talked, laughed and nuzzled against the other, as he hid his face behind his hands, he knew that Carl Powers would die because of love. 

James Moriarty hadn't murdered Carl Powers for laughing at him, was kind of stupid idea was that? 

He had murdered him for laughing at his love. 

\---------

"You killed him. " his father remarked, idly turning the pages of his newspaper. 

His dark eyes were fixated on a single point, a single word, almost burning a hole through the thin paper. 

Jim smiled, sitting on the chair facing the couch. 

"You killed mum. "

The man chuckled, taken aback, before looking up, the black orbs as cold as ever even as the corner of his lips curled upwards. 

"Why? " he asked, an hint of curiosity shining in the voids. 

"He laughed at me. "

This time the man laughed, spitting to the his face the word Jim had thought so much but hadn't dared saying. 

"Liar. "

_Liarliarliar_

The younger grinned, sinking further into the chair. 

"We're alike you and I... " his father trailed off and Jim wondered how it would feel to simply take a knife on the kitchen counter and stick it inside his guts. 

"I loved him. " he said instead. 

"You don't kill people you love! " his father almost guffawed, and wasn't that just hilarious? 

"How would you know? "

\----------

It was years later that Jim's suspicions were revealed to be true, when he finally killed his old man.

It became clear when he simply watched him arrange what would be his murder scene with curiosity, sometime asking why the younger was adding a particular element, lazily drinking a glass of whisky as his son was preparing his death. 

The man was a sociopath. 

Jim couldn't believe it had taken him so long to understand that, because it was as simple as that, but to his defense, he had only learnt of the term while browsing his college's library. 

Originally, he had been looking for an astronomy book, but when he had found the psychology essay, everything had finally made sense. 

No empathy, no remorse, violents outbursts followed by honeyed words, pretty words laced with threats, every points were there and Jim could have checked every single one of them if it had been a list. 

It was easy to see why his mother had stayed, charmed by his roguish grin, seduced by his empty compliments, she fell, fell and fell until she could fall no longer, until her heart was so completely in his grasp that she would never think of leaving, until she would profess her love even as he killed her. 

It was instinctive for him, a second nature like it was for his son, he lied as easily as he breathed, sometimes for his own gain, sometimes because he was bored, and he didn't care about any of the consequences.

It could have been him, Jim realised, and maybe they really were one of the same like the man had said years ago, maybe the younger was only a twisted reflection of the older, smaller, sharper but somehow keeping some traces of his mother's softness.

If she had died earlier, if his father had been the one raising him...

But no, it wouldn't have mattered, Jim wasn't like him, he felt, and cared, and loved-

_He heard his own voice echoing in his mind at that moment, somehow drowning his father's screams._

_How would you know?_

\----------

"Hey, you seem a bit lonely here... I'm John, mind if I buy you a drink? "

Jim was bored out of his mind, trying to drown, to alleviate the neverending void eating his mind away in a bar after everything else had failed, when the man had sat next him. 

Blond, blue eyes, he looked nothing like Carl but for a second, he was the only one Jim could see. 

And then he blinked, smiled and nodded. 

"Why not? "

John grinned, a grin that was both familiar and completely alien as he ordered the two beers before leaning towards him.

"So, what are you doing here? And I still haven't caught your name I'm afraid. " he smoothly asked from behind his glass.

"What do people do in a bar Johnny boy? "

"You tell me!" he exclaimed, and Jim laughed. 

"Jim. " He extended his hand, and John's closed around his.

"What do you say about going back to my flat? "

\----------

The next day, it wasn't the shrill sound of his alarm, or even the sunlight getting in his eyes that woke him up but the scent of breakfast. 

"I didn't know what you liked, so I made toasts, eggs and tea. " John said when he saw the other coming down the stairs in his ruffled shirt. 

Jim looked with wide eyes at the assortment of food, before grinning widely and taking a little bit of each.

As they talked, sharing snippets of their pasts and of their dreams, the image of Carl Powers slowly drifted away from the other blond and started to disappear into the void, until it was only John Watson and James Moriarty, eating breakfast and talking about their life aspirations.

After Carl, after his betrayal and his death, he had thought that his heart had stopped, turned to stone into his chest, but it only took a smile to make it beat anew.

\----------

After that day, that night and that morning, Jim came back again and again, to eat, to talk, to live. 

John Watson, as he learned the other was named, was studying to be a surgeon and was often working quite late as an apprentice in the neighbouring hospital, but he always seemed to make time for the other.

They would lay curled in the couch, laugh about some stupid thing one of his patients had said, talk about the army and what the blond would do once he was there, where he would go and what he would experience. 

He could see that the other was hesitating, wondering what was the most important between love and his dreams... 

Jim knew he would chose the former, and that's why he couldn't let it happen. 

The other was so passionate about it, so alive when he spoke of the thrill of saving a life, of the way his blood thumped inside his veins when he held a gun, the criminal couldn't bear the thought of taking that away from him so he took away his choice. 

People gave up everything for love, all the time, so this time he gave up love for everything. 

Jim Moriarty loved John Watson, and he knew that John loved him, but sometimes love just wasn't enough, so he left like he had come, in the middle of the night, without a note or a word, slipping silently into the streets. 

When he was back in one of his flats, the criminal watched himself in the mirror, observed as the light in his eyes dimmed, dulled, until the only thing left was the empty void.

He grinned, and when the corner of his lips twisted upwards in the reflection, he felt like he was looking at a corpse.

\----------

Jim was tied in a corner of the room, metal handcuffs painfully digging into the soft skin of his wrists when they dragged another man in the room, locking him to another pillar. 

He didn't seem to be in a bad shape, and by the look of his tailored suit, he had been attending the embassy's party too, but he couldn't guess his identity as long as his face stayed hidden like that. 

"Hey there, are you alright? "

The mystery man seemed to slowly come back to his senses, looking around as his eyes sharpened. 

"Where am I? " he asked with an impeccable accent. 

Jim shrugged, or at least he tried to before he felt the cold metal biting into his wrists. 

"Don't ask me, I woke up here a few minutes ago... Am I right to assume you were at the embassy's party too? " 

The other nodded, straightening as his world came back into focus. 

"I don't remember any incident though. "

He tested his restraints for a few seconds before apparently deciding that it was no use and sighing deeply, leaning against the pillar. 

They were both silent for a while, trying to reconstruct the events leading to their capture, but ultimately, the other man was the first to break the stillness again. 

"I'm Michael. " 

_No you're not._

Jim remembered perfectly the guest list, and the only Michael coming to the party had been a senile, balding man, with a horrible taste when it came to shoes. 

From where he was tied down, he couldn't quite make out his features, but he was quite sure that the other actually had hair and the quality of his shoes betrayed him. 

"Nice to meet you Michael, even if the circumstances are less than ideal... The name's Jeremy, but I prefer being called Jem. " his current alias rolled out of his lips smoothly, and by the way the other stilled, he recognised it. 

"Jeremy Mortimer? The french ambassador's friend?"

Jim had crafted a quick back-story, British mother, French father, a studious childhood and a good education before he left to travel the world and met Vincent, the ambassador. 

In truth, his "dear friend" had needed to make his very underaged, and very pregnant mistress disappear, and the consulting criminal had been the perfect solution, the issue being quietly resolved in exchange for a favor. 

But well, clearly Jim hadn't planned on being kidnapped during the gala... 

No one knew who he truly was, even Vincent thought he was simply Moriarty's representative, but the fact that he couldn't seem to remember anything that happened during the night was worrying. 

Realizing he still hadn't answered Michael, he quietly hummed, the French words naturally falling off his lips. 

"Oui, c'est moi. "

\----------

Jim quickly realised that the whole kidnapping situation was his fault... 

Well, not Jeremy's fault, but it was certainly linked to Moriarty, and it was quite easy to understand that considering the first thing they had been asked by their kidnappers was their relationship to Moriarty. 

Michael had seemed quite puzzled by the question, and they hadn't even insisted that much on him, but as for "Jeremy", his dear Vincent must have babbled a bit too much because they had certainly known that he was lying, and they hadn't exactly appreciated the gesture. 

They brought him back to the main room and practically threw him on the floor, purely for fun as they then proceeded to drag him towards the familiar pillar to tie him up. 

"Waterboarding? " asked his companion when he started coughing. 

Jim tried to laugh, but that only made him choke more. 

"No, but I think they'll do it next time, they didn't really like me purposely swallowing the water when they put my head in the bucket."

"Were you trying to kill yourself? " he asked, more curious than shocked. 

The criminal blinked, puzzled. 

"Of course not, that's what cyanide capsules are for, I just got bored. "

And honestly, it was ridiculous that they hadn't even checked to see if he had a way out all this time, because if he had been alone in here, the sheer boredom would have been enough to make him seriously consider killing himself. 

"Am I such a bad company? " 

Jim laughed, ignoring the way it made his throat burn and his chest throb in pain from the broken ribs.

Everytime they decided to ask him questions, he would just browse his mind palace, completely unresponsive for the hours to come and he would have stayed like a lifeless puppet most of the time if the other hadn't been there. 

Michael was surprisingly smart, able to keep up with him, offering good insights and wry comments, debating with him on maths, history and ethics. 

During their conversation, Jim had learned that he was involved in politics, probably in the secret services even if he denied it, was around ten years older than him and had a younger brother although he absolutely refused to elaborate on the last point. 

'Jem' had dropped the topic once he had realised it was a sore point for the other man, but the criminal couldn't help but wonder just who was his baby brother... 

\---------

Weeks passed, maybe even months, blurring into each other until Jim couldn't tell his alias from his real self anymore.

The fact that he was feeling sicker and sicker every-day was certainly not helping, and speaking about his alleged life all the time with Michael wasn't probably the best idea either, but since he had the choice between an intelligent discussion and utter boredom, it wasn't like he really had any real alternative. 

So he talked, talked and talked, weaved lies with truths, painted himself a world, an entire universe to fit his words, until he lost his way in the charades, found himself adrift in the deceptions. 

Jeremy and Michael, alone together, together and alone. 

"Who are you? " he wanted to scream, to yell, to shout. 

"Who are you? " he whispered instead when his throat refused to comply. 

The other smiled, or at least Jim thought he did, half hidden behind his pillar, but he stayed silent, his slow breathing the only sound disturbing the calm. 

_Who are you?_

The word echoed in his mind, repeating into the infinity, and Jim wasn't even sure who he was asking the question anymore. 

\---------

"Mycroft Holmes. " he said, holding out his hand. 

They had been rescued after 57 days, Jim had then spent a few weeks in a private hospital, recovering from the broken bones and the pneumonia, and as he had gotten out of the plane bringing him back to England, he had come face to face with his companion. 

' _Who are you_? ' he had thought again, and the other had introduced himself. 

The criminal grinned and took the offered hand, wondering how it was possible for a man that always acted so cold to release so much warmth. 

"Pleasure to meet you, James Moriarty... Consultant. "

The other, ' _Mycroft Holmes_ ' he forced his brain to remember, blinked, shocked, but a smile still broke out on his face after a second.

"The pleasure is all mine Mr Moriarty. "

\---------

They started drinking tea together, at first it was a monthly meeting with stilled talks about politics, but it quickly turned into a weekly occurrence, the tea joined by savoury cakes.

Just like when they were imprisoned, they talked about everything, but this time, knowing very well who the other was. 

There was this thrill, this rush of adrenaline everytime they met, Jim could not let himself forget that 'Mickey' would very well kidnap him if he ever needed to, but instead of dissuading him, that only made him more interested. 

Even if he was still consulting, Mycroft would sometimes hire him "for the Crown and the Country" as an intelligence asset as he liked to say, and he would make sure that none of his other businesses were going against England's interests for a while.

Maybe the biggest change occured when he stopped interfering with Mycroft's operations purposely, or when he offered him information freely, or maybe even when their meetings turned into dates, Jim didn't know and a part of him had stopped caring a long time ago. 

It simply happened, one day he woke up to see the other's sleeping face right next to his, so peaceful in its slumber, so tranquil in its sleep, and Jim kissed him, because that was what people did.

One day Mycroft held out his hand and asked him to move in, asked him to share his life with a few words, like it was natural, like it was the normal thing to do, and Jim accepted, because what else was there to do? 

"I love you. " he whispered that day as they watched the stars, lying on the roof of their new house. 

The other wasn't asleep, he knew he wasn't, but he didn't reply. 

Jim didn't want him to. 

\---------

Life settled somewhat after that, a mix of intertwined fingers, hot chocolate mixed with whiskey and quick kisses before leaving for work. 

They both continued their respective activities, but where Jim had taken to sharing some of the cases he found amusing, Mycroft was as secretive as ever unless he directly needed the consultant's help on the matter. 

And it wasn't like it bothered him so much, he only used his work as a way to alleviate the mind-numbing boredom afterall, but he couldn't help but notice the disparities between their side of the relationship. 

Mycroft took, took, took, and he gave back so rarely that Jim wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined the whole thing. 

"I love you. " he would say, waiting for the same words to leave the other's lips. 

"I love you. " he would say, only to be met with smiles and kisses. 

Mycroft wanted someone he could bring to the embassy's parties without an alias, someone that could meet his parents and satisfy them, someone that would be able to understand his brother and maybe quell his thirst for adrenaline... 

Mycroft wanted someone that Jim couldn't be, and yet he offered him infinity, trapped him with a forever. 

\---------

Mycroft came back that day, that dreadful day, his eyes just a bit too fast, his fingers slightly too restless, and Jim knew.

"No. "

A annoyed frown, the older letting his umbrella rest on one of the chairs. 

"I didn't say anything. "

He didn't...

He never needed too. 

"No. " the criminal repeated, getting up. 

Mycroft didn't need to get down on one knee and take out a ring to make his intentions clear, he simply held out his hand like he had years ago, a promise of eternity on his lips, and Jim, wouldn't accept, couldn't accept, because if he did, he wouldn't even care anymore if the world burnt, if his empire crumbled around him, as long as he had the other.

He knew it, knew very well that this would be the last straw and his acceptance would send him over the edge, make him cross forever the point of no return. 

"I love you. " the other said like that might change anything. 

_I love you, so stay._

It was funny wasn't it, how people always thought love would fix everything. 

Jim smiled, the kind of smile Mycroft had never seen on his face, slightly crooked, slightly sad, and somehow pitying all at once. 

"Loving someone doesn't mean you have to stay with them Mycroft. " he turned around, threw his cloak over his shoulder and added "Love has nothing to do with that. "

Jim Moriarty could have stayed, should have perhaps, let his heart burn him from the inside out and rebuild the man Mycroft dreamed of from the ashes, constructing his whole world, his forever, around the other. 

Perhaps he should have completely gave himself up, let himself be swallowed by the ice. 

It would have been pretty wouldn't it, the snowflakes drifting on his eyeslashes, his limbs crystallized by the cold until a gust of wind made him fall and shatter into thousands of shiny little fragments, uneven and jagged, and yet covered in intricate patterns.

Instead, he never looked back, not once, he simply opened the door and walked away.

\---------

"Why do you do that James? " Mycroft had asked after he had kidnapped him in the bowels of the British government. 

' _Why do you that to me_? ' he meant, and Jim had smiled. 

"It's not about you Mycroft. " He had paused, before adding a little sad, a little out of synch "It never was. "

The Ice Man had sent him a disbelieving look that made the criminal want to hurt him, want to take a knife, carve him open and bury his face in his chest cavity to see if the man really had a heart. 

"We both know it is James. " 

And Jim had laughed, laughed and laughed, until his throat burnt from the abuse, until tears leaked from his eyes, not caring if Mycroft thought the torture had finally made him go crazy. 

_You know nothing then._

The words had been on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, but instead he had smiled, leaning forward. 

_Sherlock._

_Sherlock._

_Sherlock._

"And we both know what I want. "

\---------

It was a surprise when Mycroft invited him to Sherringford, because as much as the other denied it, it WAS an invitation. 

Jim had no need to go, but the creeping boredom had accepted for him, and so he went, music blasting in his ears, wishing it would drown him like it drowned his thoughts. 

He teased Mycroft, watching the man stiffen at the familiarity, feeling his eyes follow his every move as he scrutinized the room. 

Maybe they should have talked that day, or the days that followed, the thing that wasn't quite rage, that monster inside Jim's chest had settled already, but Mycroft didn't ask, so he didn't tell. 

What he did say was something Jim wouldn't accept anymore, simply because he couldn't. 

"I still love you. " he said, holding the criminal's wrist before he could leave the room. 

_After everything, after your departure, after your games with my brother, I still do._

He could hear all of it, and more, the proposal, the plea for him to come back, for their life to start again, together. 

_Too late._

"And I don't. " 

Jim wished he could say he hated him, but hatred was too close to love for his heart to muster. 

\---------

Mycroft let go of him after that, looked at him with eyes so cold that he thought he might freeze if he held his gaze a second longer, so he left, followed by his bodyguards, to the deepest cell of Sherringford. 

A sister, huh? 

A genius, like Mycroft, like Sherlock, like him, but somehow even more, breaking through a limit their minds could only graze. 

They walked in silence until they arrived in front of the door leading to the cell.

'Big G' sent him a look of something that might have been pity and nodded, indicating that the criminal could proceed onwards. 

The door opened, revealing the dark-haired woman standing in the center of the room, observing him with the curiosity of the cat watching the neighbor's bird. 

"I'm your Christmas present. " he breathed out, stepping forwards until the only thing separating them was the glass panel. "What's mine? "

Eurus Holmes grinned and mirrored his movements until she was standing right in front of him.

"Redbeard. " she said like it was the key to all of the universe's secrets. 

"Redbeard" she said, and Jim knew that in the second it had taken him to stroll to the glass, she had seen everything. 

Carl Powers, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes and all those that would come. 

She saw the criminal, but most importantly, she saw the pieces of his heart he had discarded as he went, thrown away to keep on walking forwards. 

The criminal smiled, really smiled, not a smirk like the ones he usually plastered on his face, not a mask, an empty facade, but a true smile that lit up his face. 

_Redbeard_. 

"Sherlock. " 

They spoke for five minutes, the five longest and shortest minutes of his life, they seemed to stretch for all eternity and yet they were gone in the blink of an eye. 

Eurus understood him like no one had before, and like no one would ever be able to. 

She didn't ask anything from him, or on the contrary, she asked for everything : his recordings, his help, his life... 

But she knew, they both knew that none of it mattered, and she didn't demand a forever like everyone else had before. 

They spent 5 minutes together, she told him he would die and Jim nodded with a smile. 

\---------

Molly Hooper, quiet, insecure, Jim invited her for coffee and she practically fell in his arms. 

Jim from IT was everything she had ever wanted, he was nice, loved her cat Toby, enjoyed watching Glee with her and her dark humor, he was the perfect fit for her, but he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. 

She mentioned him often, sometimes she ranted, sometimes she described how handsome he was, with his sharp cheekbones and dark curls, sometimes she didn't say anything, mulling over the last thing he had told her, but for Jim, it told as much as when she was talking out loud.

One day, he said casually that he had yet to meet the detective, and Molly jumped on the occasion. 

"He'll love you! " she lied as she was directing him through the corridors, and it was the first time he saw her acting so selfishly. 

She wanted the detective to be jealous, to finally realise that yes, she existed, and that she could very well be happy without him, not realising Sherlock couldn't care less. 

So he came with her, making sure all of his appearance was screaming 'gay', and opened the door.

She introduced him, the other only raised his head to reveal his apparent sexuality, and the first meeting between James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes was over. 

It was funny to see John Watson's reaction, the surprise in his eyes when he saw the familiar face and the disappointment when he realised it wasn't the same person, couldn't be the same person, all in one second.

The doctor saw him, saw Jim, saw the man he had loved, and the words caught in his throat were almost perceptible.

And then he saw the lack of recognition, the way the other completely ignored him, and he looked away, resigned. 

Jim left, strode out of the room knowing exactly what Molly would ask and the way Sherlock would answer, how the pathologist would feel and how she would react. 

It hurt somehow, he hadn't thought it would, but it hurt, seeing her tear stricken face twisted in betrayal and disbelief when he came back to her flat that day. 

He had always known that it wouldn't last and that Sherlock would be overjoyed to pick on all of the hints he had left on his person, he had known that he would never see her again after that day, but still. 

She didn't scream, she probably wanted to but Jim knew her, knew the pain was choking her, knew that she wouldn't be able to, so he just took his belongings in silence and stood in front of the door once he was done. 

"If that still means anything, I really loved you." James Moriarty lied, looking away. 

He could never have loved her, the routine, the sweetness of it all would have killed him one day. 

He scratched Toby behind the ears, smiled a last time at the pathologist and left, not letting her the time to muster an answer. 

Jim didn't want to hear her rebuttal, her reject and her hatred. 

James Moriarty didn't love Molly Hooper, but Jim from IT certainly did. 

\---------

He had met Sebastian Moran a winter's morning years ago, in the middle of London.

More precisely, the sniper had been cheating his way through a game of poker, quite well if Jim had to admit, and the mastermind had decided to turn the tables on him, so to speak...

He hadn't expected the other man to literally turn the tables and start a bar brawl before clutching his arm in an iron grip and dragging him through the back door.

"Who are you? " the stronger man had hissed furiously, holding a knife to his throat.

Jim had laughed, not caring if the motion made the blade dug into the soft skin of his neck, and had tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting darkly. 

"I'm Jim Moriarty and I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

Moran had laughed, recognising the quote, before stepping back and looking around with something akin to concern. 

"James Moriarty? " 

The man had obviously known his name and had been wondering why he wasn't already dead for assaulting the man that practically ran the whole London criminal scene.

The criminal had leaned against the wall, only showing his acknowledgement with a low hum

"What do you say about having a drink now Mr Moran? " 

\---------

Recruiting Moran had been at the same time the best and the worst decision he had ever taken.

On one hand, the man was smart, extremely loyal and was the best sniper Jim had ever met, but on the other, he made wry comments all the time, grumbled quite a lot, and when the he wasn't grumbling, he was flirting with everything he had. 

The criminal answered with threats and new missions, but if anything, that only seemed to make the other more intent on pursuing him.

Maybe it was because he had been used to getting everyone he wanted while in the army and then afterwards, or maybe because Jim Moriarty was the only man he had met that could kill him in the blink of an eye... 

Whatever his reason was, the sniper tortured people as a Valentine's gift, ripped his enemies' hearts out and served them on a platter, dedicating each and every of his kills to his boss. 

His tiger didn't profess his love, didn't try to tell him that his heart was his, didn't talk about sentiments or emotions, but he was always there, at his side, even when Jim's mind fell apart and he had to stitch back all of the fragments together, cutting his hands on the razor-shap edges. 

Moran didn't tell him he loved him but he held him like he was the most dangerous and intriguing weapon he had ever seen, like any movements might make him go off. 

The sniper was the one that helped him recover when he came back from France, but at that point, there was only one name on the criminal's lips. 

And if the blond looked betrayed every time Mycroft was mentioned, if he screamed and raged when the other man left, Jim knew that it had nothing to do with sentiments. 

Jim knew, and that's why he walked away. 

\--------

Sebastian had been the one to tell him "welcome back boss" when he had run away from the Ice Man, accepting his return like he had never left in the first place, ready once more to lay his life down at a moment's notice. 

There was always this slight unease though, he flirted less, stopped arguing, and Jim found himself missing the other.

It was funny wasn't it, how one could still feel so lonely while they were surrounded by others.

But well, maybe the funniest thing was how Jim found himself pursuing the other when Moran had always seemed the one intent on flirting with him.

So the criminal didn't speak about love, he never did, but he kissed the other and wished for things that would never happen.

\--------

Time passed sluggishly, Sebastian continued taking on missions, Jim found Sherlock and his world started turning on a different axis. 

Moran hated the detective, hated his pet doctor and his brother, hated the pathologist and her stupid cat, but most importantly, Jim felt like the other hated him.

"I hate Jim from IT." He said himself, like that meant anything, like the criminal wasn't the same person when he slid into a persona, and of course he was partly right, but there were always pieces of himself stuck in his disguises, fragments of his psyche laced with the masks. 

"I hate Jim from IT. " he said, "I hate Richard Brook" he would add later, "I hate Moriarty. " he thought, and sometimes Jim agreed with him.

\----------

The moment had come, finally, the end of his games, the end of everything, his final plan. 

"Can I shoot Watson? " Sebastian asked with a grin.

Jim shook his head fondly, humming lowly.

"If Sherly doesn't jump, sure, have your fun."

The sniper bristled when he realised that if the plan worked, there would be no need for his skill, knowing very well that the criminal's plans always worked.

"Alright." he grumbled, showing his weapon in a duffel bag.

Jim hid his gun in the left pocket of his coat when the other wasn't looking, tightly clutching it for a second before letting it go and stepping towards the door. 

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, but after a second, he grasped it. 

"Catch you later tiger. " he said softly, his voice devoid of his usual sing-song as he walked away. 

Jim didn't offer his love, but he left a jaded fragment of his heart as he left, the tiniest shard of what had one day been a bright jewel in his chest. 

Jim Moriarty didn't offer his love but he gave it nonetheless. 

\---------

Everyone, upon hearing of James Moriarty or ultimately meeting him, would say that the man was heartless, with a void inside his chest. 

How could someone like him love anyone? 

They always assumed that simply because loving someone would be hard meant that he didn't. 

They always assumed that simply because it seemed unbelievable meant that it was impossible. 

They didn't understand Jim Moriarty, couldn't understand him, their tiny little brains were unable to even grasp the concept of a man such as him, so they tried to make him fit into their expectations, their tiny, insignificant boxes, and when that didn't work, when they realised it was pointless to even try, they simply decided that he couldn't be a man at all. 

\--------

"I don't have to die if I've got you. "

He laughed, he boasted, and for a second Jim thought he knew. 

_A flicker, dark curls bouncing in front of sharp blue eyes, a boy following another class, his eyes wandering around the room, bored._

_"Be careful, you'll get lost! " the wrong shade of blue staring at him, blond hair framing an angelic face, Jim stared silently for a second before looking back but the boy had already disappeared behind an exhibit._

_..._

_Carl was dead, the police had closed the case and it was the same boy again, screaming in front of the police station, holding out what seemed to be a notebook and waving it in anger._

_"It was a murder! That wasn't a natural death! Why do you want it to be natural? Why would a healthy kid have a heart attack? It was a MURDER-"_

_The door opened and the boy was violently pulled inside, his notepad falling in the street._

_Jim hesitated, looked around, and then rushed to pick it up, running away as soon as he felt his hand close on the leather._

_Once he was back in his room, huddled behind his wardrobe, he took the notebook out and carefully opened it, his fingers brushing reverently on the paper._

_Pages covered scribbles and anatomy doodles, black ink sometimes joined by colourful pencils..._

_And then the last page : 'Carl Powers : murdered', 'the SHOES', 'in his medicine?? '._

_He closed the book and laid back in his bed, holding it close to his chest with a smile._

_The owner had carved his name on the leather, inside the notepad._

_Sherlock Holmes..._

_Jim repeated the name, letting it roll on his tongue and wash up on his lips, enjoying the way it sounded in his mouth, how it echoed in the room._

_..._

_The next time he saw him, years had passed since Carl's murder._

_Jim was older, colder, and currently bored out of his mind, downing shots after shots until he fell in a pleasant numbness, and then he saw him._

_Sherlock was older, sharper, the boy had turned into a man at some point and his blue eyes had lost the little childish candor that had been left in their depths somewhere in between the last time Jim had seen him and now._

_He was sitting in a corner, his eyes quickly scanning the room, he seemed to see something or someone and quickly got up, scurrying towards-_

_"Hey, you seem a bit lonely here... I'm John, mind if I buy you a drink? "_

_When Jim finally looked back a few minutes later, Sherlock was gone along with whoever had caught his eyes..._

_The next day, the newspaper were announcing that a murderer had been caught in a bar thanks to the collaboration between the police and a civilian._

_..._

_Jim watched in curiosity as Sherlock slowly breathed, his chest rising and falling with his every exhales, his eyes moving being his closed eyelids._

_The other was drugged, high as a kite and probably experiencing a bunch of hallucinations... Or maybe he was simply browsing his mind palace, using the drug as a memory enhancer?_

_The smaller man cast another look at the other, wondering what he should do._

_He shouldn't be there, but no one knew he was anyway... He could do anything, kidnap Sherlock, dissect that pretty brain of his, kill him..._

_His hand hovered just above his skin, close enough to feel the warmth seep into the cold air of the drug den but not quite touching, before ultimately pulling away._

_Jim took a step back, looked longingly at the detective sprawled on the floor, and left._

_Mycroft was waiting for him._

_..._

_Jim entered the room, and here he was, hunched over a microscope, trying to solve his puzzle, tying all the evidences together, the clues he hadn't been able to access all these years ago._

_"Gay. "_

_Jim smiled and left his number under the platter, knowing very well that Sherlock would never call it._

_..._

_"Did I make such a fleeting impression? "_

_James Moriarty saw Sherlock Holmes once and that was enough to obsess him for years to come._

_Sherlock Holmes never noticed the dark-eyed boy, the scrawny child who turned into a jagged adult with fragments of his sanity sticking out everywhere, the all seeing detective missed the biggest clue of them all for years._

_And Jim couldn't help but wonder how the other would react if he knew his nemesis had been with him almost every steps of the way._

_..._

_They talked over a cup if tea, Jim threatened him, Sherlock answered with his usual bravado, and an apple was carved._

_At first, he was going for a heart, he carved the lines and the curves, looked at the finished product before glancing at Sherlock..._

I love you.

_"I owe you. " he said instead._

_Jim bit the apple and ate his heart away_. 

...

They talked, and for an instant, he thought Sherlock truly understood him. 

"I don't have to die if I've got you. " 

To anyone, it might have seemed like a threat, the implication that the other would somehow manage to make him talk, but Jim didn't hear it that way, he could discern the hidden meaning behind the words... 

_I'vegotyouI'vegotyouI'vegotyou_

Sherlock didn't ask him for love, didn't ask him for eternity, he didn't ask him anything... 

Jim smiled, continued talking, taunting, more out of habit than anything, and the other answered, keeping up with him everytime, leaving the side of the angels to stand in Hell with him and-

That wasn't right, was it? 

"You're me. "

_You're me, but you don't understand._

_You're me, but you're not who I want you to be._

"Thank you... " 

Jim held out his hand and almost pulled away when he felt the detective's fingers close over his own, like the very contact was burning him. 

He had spent so long dreaming about Sherlock... He had loved, loved so brightly, burned the heart out of himself by refusing to settle, always finding a logical pretext for his actions, something to explain his behaviour...

_A childish voice echoed in his mind, and Jim paused._

_"Why do heroes always give up everything for love? Power, standing, their hopes and dreams... They deliberately give up all of that... For love? "_

He had no reason, not really, and he could have been so happy, he only realised now just how happy he could have been, but since when happiness had ever mattered? 

_The soft answer, a voice that felt like a hug and smelled of hot chocolate._

_"You would too Jimmy, and maybe you will one day. "_

He had given up everything for love, for the one thing he had sworn not to heed. 

No... 

That still wasn't right... 

He had given up everything for the idealized version of a man that only existed in his dreams, he had yearned for the understanding he had been offered so many times but that he had always refused, all in the hope that someone might fill perfectly that Sherlock-shaped hole he had carved into his own heart....

But even Sherlock didn't, not really, he didn't know and he would never understand like Jim needed him to. 

_"You can't walk away from love Jimmy..."_

_You can't walk away_. 

"Bless you. " he said, because thanks to the other, he had finally understood.

It was never about love, was it? He had loved many times, but this wasn't love, this was an obsession, a childish dream he should have stifled years ago... 

So Jim did what he always did, put the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, smiled, and with a caress of the trigger, walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Don't hesitate to write a short review if you enjoyed it! :)


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